


campeones

by 2davidbeckham3



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, Other characters mentioned - Freeform, Prompt Fill, Rated for swearing, Soul Bond, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, post-Champions League final
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-27 15:54:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7624729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2davidbeckham3/pseuds/2davidbeckham3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>A response to this <a href="https://football-kink.dreamwidth.org/1203.html?thread=100787#cmt100787">anon prompt</a> on the new football kink meme.</em><br/> <br/>The first thing Gareth thought when he woke up was “<em>Ow.</em>” He would have groaned out loud if it wasn’t for the fact that it felt like there were cotton balls in his mouth and the fact that any noise would have horribly clashed with the pounding of his head. If it was any other night, annoyance would have creeped in with his usual post-hangover exasperation and feeling a bit disappointed with himself, but Milan shone in white, last night. Being crowned the Kings of Europe the night before did wonders in lightening his mood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	campeones

**Author's Note:**

> _A response to this[anon prompt](https://football-kink.dreamwidth.org/1203.html?thread=100787#cmt100787) on the new football kink meme._  
>   
> 
> so i love the soulmate trope and when i saw this the concept for this prompt, i couldn't get it out of my head after i started thinking about it. i tried replying on dreamwidth, but couldn't thread the post properly the first time. because of that, however, i ended up rewriting the ending and going in the direction i wanted to the first time - i knew it was going to be long - and i ended up with this! the story got a little bit out of my hands, honestly. 
> 
> again my sincerest apologies to the OP! if you're reading this I don't know how to thread posts in a forum, tumblr has ruined me honestly, so sorry that I had to post it on here (but this is much better than the original, i promise)
> 
> this is not how madrid's celebrations went at all, but artistic liberty and i honestly didn't pay attention lol.  
>  
> 
> as always, un-beta'd, all mistakes are mine (rated T because of 1 swear lol)

The first thing Gareth thought when he woke up was “ _Ow_.” He would have groaned out loud if it wasn’t for the fact that it felt like there were cotton balls in his mouth and the fact that any noise would have horribly clashed with the pounding of his head. If it was any other night, annoyance would have creeped in with his usual post-hangover exasperation and feeling a bit disappointed with himself, but Milan shone in white, last night. Being crowned the Kings of Europe the night before did wonders in lightening his mood.

So much so, in fact, that he had a small smile on his face when he blearily opened his eyes to take in the morning sun shining into his hotel room. It took him a few minutes to finally focus, dividing his time between stretching his sore muscles and taking stock of the mess that wasn’t there the yesterday to realize that Modrić never made it back to their room last night. Now sitting up, a bruise on his lower back that wasn’t from the game reminded Gareth of Luka, causing him to groan, raising his hand to rub his eyes. Luka was probably passed out somewhere in Marcelo’s room, better known as the scene of the crime. What kind of “pillow fight-slash-drinking game” involved causing harm to members of your own team? Though, the game that Marcelo organized _was_ successful, since the rest of the night after that was a blur. A warm, happy mass of moments, but a haze, nonetheless.

The night’s memories became considerably less happy when Gareth noticed the mark on the back of his hand. In the space between his index finger and thumb was a dark mark that looked vaguely like a “CL.” Vaguely. It was either that or a weird tree. Or a VHS, not unlike the tape that Gareth broke as a kid, constantly watching Giggs run around the Juventus defense.

“Fuck,” Gareth groaned again, trying to comb through his memories of last night’s celebrations, He must have kissed half of Milan last night - or his team, anyways. Raúl was there, too, he thinks. Thankfully he remembers how the former striker’s faint stubble felt against his lips and not anything else. Gareth could only imagine the media storm that would arise if the icon was his soulmate. That would quell the rumors that Raúl had been bonded ages ago to Hierro, at least.

 (Even though it was illegal for anyone to outright ask if someone was soul bonded - not to mention to ask to whom, if the pair hadn’t gone public - the media was relentless in trying to get any public figures to spill – both in England and in Spain. They still wouldn’t let Cristiano alone, even though his own bond was old news.)

Gareth raised his hand to study the centimeter-sized squiggle on the back of his hand, trying to become acquainted with the mark that would likely be there for the rest of his life.

He did have to get ready to board the plane back to Madrid soon, but how would he explain this to the rest of his teammates?

Moreover, did he end up bonded to one of his teammates?

 

\---

 

Gareth wasn't necessarily anxious to find the answer to his question, grimacing as his shuffles up towards the plane. The bottle of aspirin that Pepe passed around did help some, but he still glared at a very cheerful Zidane from behind his sunglasses after his coach tried to ruffle his hair in greeting. It didn’t help that Gareth saw a telltale navy swirl on Zidane’s wrist peaking though his suit. It’s not like he was flaunting the forearm-length mark like he did during training, but it made Gareth’s stomach churn uneasily just the same.

It was nothing compared to the lurch Gareth stomach gave when he saw his captain rushing towards the rest of the team with a sheepish smile he could make out even from the door of the plane.

“Sorry I’m late!” Sergio called out breathlessly once he reached the foot of the stairs, raising his right hand in an apologetic wave. Thankfully, the commotion drew Zidane’s attention away from Gareth, a distraction that Gareth quickly took advantage of in order to hurriedly squeeze past his coach as inconspicuously as he could and shuffling into the plane before he could see anything else that would upset him.

Everyone that was on the plane gave Gareth tired greetings while he was making his way down the cabin, the celebrations of the past night proving to take a toll on more than just him. He decided to sit next to Marcelo, who had punched his arm – quite firmly – in place of a greeting before he turned his attention back to his cellphone. Not that Gareth had anything against Luka, it was just nice to fall beside Marcelo, a man whose soulmate mark was hidden amongst his tattoos. Gareth wouldn’t be able to find the offending mark unless he dedicated his time to look for it, unlike Luka’s. Although it was hidden by Luka’s long sweatpants, Gareth knew exactly where it was above his left ankle. The knowledge was enough to make Gareth painfully aware of his own mark and the circumstances to which it came about, he could only imagine how the proximity would make him feel. Not to mention the fact that Luka would probably notice that something was off with him, too.

Gareth felt that he could properly think sitting next to Marcelo. Joyful energy, although a bit dulled by his exhaustion, rolled off Marcelo in waves. Gareth felt like he would need that energy to keep his spirit from plummeting since he knew it was useless to fight off anymore thoughts about the bond and would, inevitably, spend the remainder of the flight thinking about his new bond.

\---

(He thought about the lessons they taught him in school. How a kiss on the lips would result in a bond – and a mark – if the pair was compatible.

 He remembered the debates that were broadcast on television between bond purists and those that dismissed a soul bond as an obsolete tradition. It was still hard to take anyone who used _Romeo and Juliet_ to dismiss the validity of bonds seriously.

His thoughts wandered back to how his first girlfriend didn’t want to kiss him because she was afraid after hearing the stories spread through school about the pain caused by rejected bonds. He remembered how inexplicitly angry he was when he learned that it was impossible to reject a bond, no less ignore it. Couples were inevitably drawn together. That was it, no questions asked.

He thought back to those that he kissed in the shadows of Tottenham’s locker room, silently wishing every time that a mark would appear.

As they were nearing Madrid, Gareth’s thoughts wandered to his bonded teammates. At least the formerly conservative club was open in supporting bonded players. It was only recently that the Premier League stopped forcing their players to cover up their marks, though the use of athletic tape in unorthodox places left nothing to the imagination. It wasn't like Cristiano would have been able to properly cover his mark if he had stayed at United. It was on the side of his hand, right below his pinky, now a faded to a light blue color because of the distance between him and his soulmate. Gareth felt a newfound stab of sympathy at this. He ignored the faded mark before, but now he could barely repress a shudder thinking how it would feel away from his bondmate. It made him think of Iker and how he would run his fingers through his hair while he was thinking, almost always absentmindedly brushing at his mark behind his ear. Gareth was drawn to how the mark would fade and darken and, every time he looked at the mark, it never failed to make him question, even now, if Iker was aware of the small star-like mark that signified that he was eternally tied to another soul on this Earth.

Some people went their whole lives without knowing their soulmate, marked or not. Gareth knew he wasn't the first in his predicament.

The last thing that went through Gareth's head before they landed was a wave a relief.

He was fortunate enough to be bonded and lucky to know that he was bonded at all.)

\---

 Gareth barely had time to wrap his hand with a bandage before the team went off to make their way to the stadium to celebrate. He wasn’t ready to announce his bond to the world just yet, especially when he still wasn’t sure who he was bonded to on his team. A “imjured wrist” would have to do for now.

\---

Madrid was awash with euphoria.

_¡Hala Madrid!_

The anthem thrummed through his veins and he couldn’t keep the smile off his face as he looked at the sea of white.

_¡Hala Madrid!_

Gareth was vaguely aware of his captain hugging him, yelling _Úndecima_ , though he might’ve whispered it in his ear.

_¡Hala Madrid!_

He never felt more at home.

\---

Gareth fiddled with his cufflinks while he waited for Luka to knock on his door. His stomach was in knots and he couldn’t wait to talk with Luka about this “secret” that was weighing on his chest. The team had their farewell luncheon today and after spending the last few days by himself, Gareth realized that he wouldn’t be able to survive the event if he didn’t tell someone about his bond. The mark hadn’t faded since he left Milan so he knew it was one of his teammates and he wasn’t about to go into summer break without knowing who he was bonded to. Gareth asked Luka to carpool with him as an excuse to use that time to tell Luka about his bond and it would ensure that they would be alone.

He was looking at the bandage wrapped around his hand at the spot where he knew the inky black spot was when he heard three loud raps on his door.

“Coming!” Gareth called out, resisting the urge to loosen the bandage.

“Hey,” Luka nodded, crossing the threshold after Gareth motioned for him to step inside.

“Do you want some water?” Gareth asked after Luka sat down on the couch, making a large sweeping gesture with his right hand to the kitchen, purposely drawing attention to his wrist.

“Ye-Hey!,” Luka called out, following Gareth into the kitchen. “Did you hurt your wrist, too?”

Gareth took a moment to tamper down his alarm, “Oh, someone else on the team got hurt?” He did his best to sound casual, choosing to act like he was looking through his refrigerator for a pitcher of water instead of turning to look at Luka in the eye, instead of risking the chance of doing something embarrassing.

“It was Cristiano, I think,” Luka explained, not sounding very sure. “I don’t really remember.”

“Oh,” Gareth replied, trying to not sound too disappointed. “That’s, uh, too bad.”

Luka nodded, smiling at Gareth gratefully, taking the glass of water he offered him.  Luka was leaning up against the kitchen counter and Gareth decided that this was as good of time as any to come clean. Hopefully Luka wouldn’t fall.

“I kissed someone in Milan.”

“ _Okay_ ,” Luka agreed, drawing the second syllable out in confusion.

“I’m bonded.”

“You’re what?” Luka exclaimed, setting his glass heavily against the counter.

Gareth had a moment to fear the glass’ safety before he worked up the courage to begin to unwrap his bandage, albeit a bit shakily. “I, uh,” he stammered, frowning as he began to work around his fingers. Gareth swallowed thickly, “I, uh, I don’t know who I’m bonded to.”

 _“YOU WHAT?”_ Luka yelled, affronted.

Gareth felt like he had to defend himself. “I kissed everyone that night. I even kissed Raúl!”

“Not on the lips,” Luka interrupted weakly, though Gareth’s frenzied glare silenced him.

“You can’t blame me,” Gareth pleaded, tearing his eyes away from Luka to look forlornly at his mark. “I want to know.”

Luka padded up to Gareth silently, reaching up too place an arm on his shoulder. “You will,” he agreed quietly before tugging at Gareth’s ponytail. “I can’t believe you tried to get me to tell you who you were bonded to.”

Gareth laughed for what felt like the first time in ages, “Can you really blame me?”

\---

Luka and Gareth spent the whole car ride trying to narrow down who Gareth’s possible bond could be. However, since they could only talk about those that had visible marks and that chose to show them, they didn’t get very far. Even those that didn’t appear to be bonded could be, it was just personal choice whether or not they chose to go public with it. At least Gareth knows he didn’t kiss any of the younger members of the squad, but that still left a lot of the team, sadly.

“At least,” Luka began cheerfully as they got out of the car, “When this whole ordeal is over, you’ll only have to kiss one person for the rest of your life.”

“Hopefully,” Gareth countered, suddenly understanding Alice’s fears about broken bonds. 

\---

The luncheon was stifling.

Gareth got multiple questions about his hand, his wrist, his arm and everything in between. They wondered when he got injured and whether or not he’d be fit for national duty. Even though the questions were mostly from his higher-ups, Gareth was almost certain that his teammates were wondering the same thing.

He couldn’t handle it anymore.

He couldn’t handle not knowing.

He excused himself from his table, earning him a concerned look from Luka. Gareth hoped he didn’t look as frazzled as he felt and quickly made a beeline to the bathroom, hoping to splash some water on his face to help him calm down.

_Everyone was looking but no one knew._

_Maybe his bond was ignoring him_

_Maybe-_

The bathroom door swung open and Gareth nearly got a real injury to join his fake one.

“I’m so sorry!” Isco exclaimed, grabbing Gareth by his shoulders. “I didn’t hurt you did I?”

Thankfully the door barely missed hitting Gareth in the face, but he still got quiet the start. It was hard to slow his already rapidly beating heart. “I’m fine,” Gareth replied with a tight smile, forcing himself to breathe normally. “Don’t worry.”

Isco was doing the opposite as evidenced with how he nearly chewed on his lip while he gave Gareth another once-over, obviously unconvinced. “I’ll let you pee,” he said gravely, meeting Gareth’s eyes. “My table’s the one behind Zidane,” he added, leaving no room for argument. Gareth had yet to pass Isco’s inspection. With that, Isco stepped to the side and made his way to his table, finally leaving the path to the bathroom unlocked.

Gareth was greeted by the sight of Sergio washing his hands and the slight smell of menthol cream. All sense of composure that Gareth had gained by forcing himself to act normally around Isco disappeared at that, as he wobbily made his way to the empty sink beside Sergio’s.

The Premier League was renowned for its intricate and, sometimes, controversial techniques in covering bond marks. Athletic tape was the most recent “fix” before any league-regulated methods of covering marks were outlawed by FIFA. Before that came temporary creams that players would use before games and press conferences that would allow for their marks to artificially fade in order to be nearly impossible to decipher in journalists' grainy photos. (Something with how the chemicals of bonds worked made them nearly impossible to cover up, probably an evolutionary advantage at some point, but a headache for modern skeptics.) This, however, later left the skin red and painfully swelled for days on end. It was a method being phased out while Gareth made his way up the youth ranks, but players still illegally used the creams, causing the smell of menthol to permeate the locker room.

Gareth had to focus on the pattern of the tile backsplash in order to make sure that his hastily eaten lunch wouldn’t make a reappearance. This glaring reminder of his current conundrum served managed to not only increase his anxiety, but his nausea, as well.

“Alright, Gareth?”

Sergio’s voice startled Gareth, making him jump. He looked over at his captain in wide-eyed embarrassment before noting that Sergio hadn’t noticed, still focused on scrubbing his hands.

“Hmm, yeah,” Gareth answered uneasily, clutching tightly at the porcelain sink to steady his shaking hands.

Sergio hummed noncommittally. Gareth missed his captain’s furrowed brow and own unease due to the fact that he was focused on getting his breathing back to normal as inconspicuously as possible.

A few moments, maybe even minutes, passed in silence, only broken by the steady stream of water coming from Sergio’s sink. It was nice, oddly enough. After a while, any initial awkwardness had fizzled out and the pair was left with companionable silence that was more comfortable that the loud, hectic luncheon a door away. Gareth felt as close to normal as he had in the last week, oddly light and like he could breathe again. Maybe he should hang around Sergio more often, he was, unexpectedly, a calming presence.

“Thank you, by the way” Sergio said after turning off the faucet, drawing his attention up to his hair.

“Hmm?” Gareth glanced up at the mirror to meet his eyes.

“For the assist,” Sergio grinned, giving Gareth's reflection a playful wink. “I know I already thanked you, but,” he trailed off with a shrug.

“It’s no problem,” Gareth replied, mirroring Sergio’s shrug, albeit awkwardly since he was still holding on to the sink. He let go with a grimace and started to flex his hands. That returned Gareth’s attention to the soul mark and with a sigh he brought his hands up to redo his ponytail.

“Well,” Sergio ran his hands through his hair one last time with a nod, satisfied with his results before turning to face Gareth. “Make sure to do the same next season.” With that Sergio left the room, though not before giving Gareth a friendly pat on the back.

Gareth had to fix his hair three more times until he was satisfied with the result. It wasn’t until he left the bathroom that he realized he could still feel Sergio’s hand on his shoulder.   

\---

The same happened during the team’s misty-eyed goodbyes.

Sergio and Gareth hugged after exchanging a few words about who would beat whom in the Euros.

Sergio, like usual, kissed Gareth’s neck while they hugged. He would miss this touchy group of Spaniards when he went to go train with the National Team.

On the way home, it felt like the spot burned.

\---

Gareth was washing his dishes after polishing off a few of the leftovers he brought home from lunch before he finally put two and two together.

Sergio.

He was bonded to Sergio.

Gareth faintly heard the sound of shattering glass while he replayed all of the day’s events in his head. Sergio was never calm, ever, but Gareth had felt inexplicably comfortable in his presence, wholly complete in a way that made him feel like he was himself since that night in Milan. Gareth almost wanted to deny it, but he felt more grounded even at the thought of his soulmate. He was right. He just knew.

The sound of the doorbell shook Gareth from his reverie and a look at the clock on the stove increased Gareth’s unease since he didn’t expect anyone over, especially nearing 11 o’clock at night. He walked carefully around the shards by his feet before walking towards the door.

Gareth opened the door only to make an undignified choking sound as he took in the person on his doorstep. It was none other than Sergio in a ridiculous outfit for a summer night. He was dressed in a heavy brown corduroy coat, long-sleeved plaid shirt, and black tie. He had a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a teddy bear holding a box of chocolates in the other.

“I didn’t know whether to get you flowers or chocolates,” Sergio explained hesitantly, looking extremely uncomfortable.  Gareth could only silently step aside to let Sergio walk in. When he closed the door, Gareth realized that he was barefoot and only had a moment to feel oddly underdressed in his own home before Sergio started talking again. “Uh, Iker told me not to get you anything. I mean,” he added, glancing at Gareth nervously before looking at anything but Gareth. “I don’t mean to talk about Iker, especially, especially since this is about us. I mean, Iker’s my best friend,” he continued, choosing to distract himself by walking over and putting his gifts on Gareth’s sofa. “He’s _bonded._ We’re not like that. I mean you and I are. He’s my best friend. We’re like that. I mean, I know we’re not really the _best_ of friends,” Sergio kept on fiddling with the bear, frowning every time it fell to the side - its head was too heavy to let it sit up straight.

“Sergio,” Gareth interrupted. It sounded more like a croak than the firm confident voice Gareth hoped for, but it got Sergio’s attention at least. Sergio was worrying his bottom lip between his teeth and Gareth realized where Isco got it from.

“I want this to work,” Sergio confessed in a rush, taking a step towards Gareth. “I want us to work,” he repeated, using his right hand to gesture at the space between them. “I-” Sergio’s voice cracked and Gareth looked down to see him grab his own hand where his mark was. Sergio held it loosely, allowing Gareth to tear his hand away if he wanted to, but he was obvious that he was enthralled with their matching marks. “I think we could work,” he whispered.

Gareth almost didn’t recognize his other hand moving towards Sergio’s until his fingertip shakily traced the smooth mark above Sergio’s thumb. “We’re definitely going to work,” Gareth agreed, looking up at Sergio with a shy smile.

“I want _us_ , too,” he breathed before leaning forward to catch Sergio’s lips in a kiss.

When their lips met, all Gareth could think was " _Finally_."

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I had a great time writing this and hopefully everything was coherent.
> 
> \- I was kind of writing with Becksillas and Criska in mind, but you can think of whoever you want! It's up to interpretation.  
> \- I have no idea what Gareth's first girlfriend's name is, I literally just thought "Alice" and decided to write it in.  
> \- I don't really keep up with Real Madrid, to say the least, so I apologize if any of the players seem out of character.
> 
>    
> hmu on tumblr!! it's all i know ):


End file.
